


The shirt in the dispute (and other laundry feuds)

by chaoticdean



Series: Suptober 2020 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Darkest Roads Verse, Domestic Disputes, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), soft idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean/pseuds/chaoticdean
Summary: Suptober 2020, day 7: domestic.It all starts off with a sordid affair of mixed laundry, and somehow it’s World War III in the Men of Letter’s bunker (or the one where Castiel mess a batch of laundry up, and Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt bites the dust)———(Darkest Roads' verse)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Suptober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949341
Comments: 7
Kudos: 133





	The shirt in the dispute (and other laundry feuds)

**Author's Note:**

> Friendly reminder that all my fic so far are unbeta'd, and that English is _**not**_ my native language, so please bear with my possible mistakes :)

It all starts off with a sordid affair of mixed laundry, and somehow it’s World War III in the Men of Letter’s bunker.

“But how is that even possible, Cas?! How could you mix that up?” Dean almost yells, holding his favorite Zeppelin shirt that’s apparently been reduced to a 3-year-old size, looking like someone just smashed his favorite toy, “You literally just had to turn the goddamn button!”

“I’m sorry —“ Cas starts, but Dean immediately cuts him off, looking even madder by the minute.

“Yeah, you bet your ass you’re sorry! You’re not making laundry ever again.”

“No need to be such a jerk about it,” Cas says, his voice suddenly as cold as ice, “When you put your red shirt in the wash and ended up coloring my trench coat pink last month, I didn’t make such a big deal of it.”

“WELL, IT’S A GODDAMN TRENCH-COAT, CAS!”

“And it’s just a black shirt, you’ve got a bazillion of them in your closet. Quit being a whiny baby about it.”

“A whiny ba—,” Dean starts and then stops, eyes wide and anger painted on every single one of his features, “First off, that's my entire personnality, I can’t just _quit_ it. Second, I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What?!” Cas exclaims, both of his eyebrows raised in a gesture that even Dean’s foggy mind recognizes as “flee before I murder your ass and throw it to the wolves”.

Dean leaves the room before they start throwing names at each other. He knows he’s being dramatic over a stupid piece of clothes, but he’s also worn out and pissed because goddammit, it did mean a lot to him. That stupid shirt must have been 15 years old, and Sam got it for him, hence the meltdown.

Which was absolutely no reason to take it out on Cas, Dean would agree if he wasn’t so busy cursing at his boyfriend under his breath.

The former angel of the Lord really was trying his best, coming to terms with living in the bunker full time with his now-boyfriend, his brother, and their kid, on top of having to deal with his newfound humanity.

Dean _knew that_.

Regardless, it didn’t stop them from bickering a single time for the rest of the day.

The first time Dean sees Cas again after they domestic feud is at the library’s table.

Dean sits directly facing him, opening his laptop to check the scanner for new potential cases. Things have been pretty quiet since they’ve defeated big bad G a few months ago, but a couple of salt and burns still appear every now and then, and although they’re not as eager as they used to be to bounce back on the road, they’re building a solid network and distributing hunts in the process.

Cas is seemingly absorbed in a book, and doesn’t make a single move when Dean sits across from him.

“Watcha reading?” Dean asks tentatively, testing the water.

“Why do you care?” Cas answers, voice venomous, and not lifting an eye from his reading.

Dean rolls his eyes. Apparently, it’s not going to be that easy to get back into Cas’ good grace.

“Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him since I caught him finishing the pack of cereals this morning.”

“He went out for the day. Should be back tonight."

The hunter sighs, deciding not to push his luck, and concentrates on the task ahead instead. Cas leaves the room not long after, taking his book with him and not even sparing a single glance at his boyfriend.

Sam walks in a few minutes after, glancing at the corridor before he makes his way to his brother and plops down on a chair next to him.

“What’s with the long faces?” he asks with a slight tilt of the head that painfully reminds Dean of Castiel, “you look like someone pissed in your cereals, and I just crossed path with Cas and I don’t think I’ve seen him that annoyed since… uh, forever, actually.”

“We had a fight,” Dean deadpans, not wavering from his screen, “He’ll get over it.”

“Oh, uh,” Sam starts, visibly surprised, “what happened?”

Dean sighs again and finally tears his eyes away from the screen to look at his brother, knowing damn well the younger Winchester won’t let this go until he’s heard about their stupid laundry dispute.

“He mixed up the programs on the washing machine and managed to shrink down my Zeppelin shirt.”

Sam just stares at him silently for what feels like a whole damn minute, before he actually bursts out laughing.

“What’s so damn funny?” Dean grumbles, bringing a hand to his face.

“You’re seriously going to war against your ex-angel boyfriend because he fucked up one batch of laundry and you lost a _shirt_? How old are you?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Okay, which side are you on, Samuel?”

“Well, certainly not yours. Just buy another.”

“I can’t, Sam. You bought me that one in freaking Michigan.”

“So what, do you want me to go back to goddamn Michigan and buy another one for you? What are you, 10?”

Dean decides to leave it at that then, knowing he won’t get Sam to side with him.

He crosses path with Cas a few hours later, when he makes his way to the kitchen to grab a beer. The angel is sitting at the table, wearing a pair of Dean’s old jeans and the hood of his navy blue sweatshirt over his head, barefooted. It looks like he’s been outside, judging by the way his hair spikes from under the blue fabric and the humidity clinging to his hoodie.

He looks like he’s straight out of a magazine, with his disheveled hair and the blue of his hoodie bringing out the color of his eyes, and Dean _would_ comment on it if he wasn’t still pissed off.

Instead, he just stares and says nothing.

He goes straight for the fridge and grabs a beer. His eyes meet Castiel’s when he turns around, and there’s a pained expression on the former angel’s face that makes Dean want to fly across the room and crush him into a tight hug, before he glances away.

 _You’re still mad at him, Winchester. That_ **_was_ ** _your favorite shirt._

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you keep going outside without shoes,” Dean starts, trying to stay on friendly territory, resting his back against the kitchen counter.

“I’m fine,” Cas grumbles, tearing his gaze away from the hunter’s, “as if you cared anyway.”

"I _do_ care."

"Sure."

“Oh, so we’re still doing that, are we?” Dean says, more venom in his voice than he would’ve like to.

“You yelled at me because of a stupid t-shirt, I think I’m entitled.”

“First off, quit calling it stupid. Second, sorry if I actually care about your well-being and don’t want you to catch pneumonia,” Dean snarls, and Cas locks eyes with him again, sending a death glare across the room.

“Thank you, Dr. Winchester,” Cas answers, voice flat, “where’d you get that degree again?”

“Same place you got that degree in sarcasm.”

“You know what, I can’t deal with this right now, I just,” Cas raises up, and Dean instantly feels guilty because he recognizes the distress in Cas’ voice and he hates himself for it, “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Cas, wait —“

But the once-upon-an-angel is already out of the room by the time Dean has managed to move from his apathy.

Sam puts his two cents in again when he joins Dean in the kitchen around dinner time, preparing a salad while Dean cooks. Cas has been MIA ever since their last conversation. Dean suspects he went out again, and now he just feels utterly _shitty_.

“You know,” Sam starts carefully while Dean has his back to him, prepping his stuff on the stove, “it wouldn’t be _that_ _hard_ for you to apologize.”

“Sam, stay in your lane, okay? You don’t hear me giving you life advice when your bickering over what sort of kale to buy with Eileen.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve heard worse today.”

“It _is_ just a shirt, Dean. And Cas is trying, you know he is.”

Dean sighs, partially because he knows his brother is right. Cas deserves nothing more than being cared for, feeling supported, and instead all he got today is a shitty boyfriend who yelled at him for doing the laundry wrong and has basically been a dickhead all day long because of a stupid shirt.

“I really didn’t think I’ll get to see you two get to that level of domesticity, to be fair, but hey. Here we are,” Sam chuckles.

Sam’s right, it _is_ just a stupid shirt, and suddenly Dean feels like he’s done a terrible mistake.

Cas doesn’t show for dinner, and he doesn’t even show in the Deancave for their usual movie night once Jack has returned from his day out. He doesn’t answer any of Dean’s texts either. By the time Sam leaves the room with Jack after the credits roll, Dean is practically bolting through the bunker until he reaches his room, an uncomfortable sensation rising from his guts.

_What if he left? What if he finally realized what a piece of shit Dean is? What if he’s had enough of his stupid ass?_

He opens the door a bit more violently than he would’ve liked to, his senses torn apart by the rise of anxiety, but then he sees him.

He’s lying on his side of the bed they’ve been sharing for months, tucked under the covers, dark hair sticking in 12 different directions, and wearing just a pair of black boxers.

Dean sighs in relief, closing the door smoothly and stripping from his clothes rapidly. He slides into bed but stays on his side at first, allowing the former angel to have his space.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think Cas was peacefully asleep, but judging by the way his shoulder blades tense when he moves, he’s pretty sure he’s awake.

They haven’t spent a single night apart, ever since they’ve broken the dam and decided to roll with whatever had grown between them for a decade, and Dean feels the loss of Cas’ warmth against him, the simple thought of having to fall asleep without being pressed against Castiel's skin suddenly made unbearable.

“You still pissed at me?” he asks wearily, voice low, eyes locked on the space between Cas’ shoulder blades.

Cas doesn’t answer right away, leaving the silence of the room to hang over them, so Dean tries again.

“Babe?”

No answer.

“Come on, don’t give me the silent treatment.”

Okay, this is gonna be harder than Dean thought it would be. He carefully moves across the mattress, making sure that Cas isn’t going to leap out of the bed before he finally presses his chest against the skin of Cas’ back.

He doesn’t push him back, but he doesn’t move either.

Dean presses his cheek against the skin of his shoulder, one hand running smoothly over the curve of Cas’ hipbone, breathing deeply.

He used to mock people for staying stupid stuff like this, but Cas _does_ smell and feel like _home_.

“Cas, baby, talk to me.”

The once-upon-an-angel finally moves against him, turning his head just enough to get sight of his boyfriend. He looks exhausted and Dean smacks himself mentally once more for getting into this stupid domestic feud over nothing.

“I’m not pissed,” Cas finally says, “I’m mostly tired and I feel like I’m really not handling this boyfriend thing really well.”

He sounds so broken up that Dean feels even more shitty. He presses a soft kiss against the skin of Cas’ neck, arms wrapping around his waist to hug him closer.

“C’mere,” he breathes against him, and waits until Cas finally rolls over and tucks himself against Dean’s chest, face disappearing into his shoulder, “it’s not your fault. I’m a dumbass.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt.”

Dean cards a hand through the thick dark locks of Cas’ hair, relishing the soft moan that comes out of Castiel’s mouth as he tugs gently.

“It's just a shirt. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

They leave it at that, sealing their argument over a couple of kisses. Dean sinks into sleep wrapped around his boyfriend, content and exhausted.

A couple of days later, when he and Sam come back from a hunt in Missouri, there’s a package with a note left for Dean on his bedside table.

_A black Zeppelin shirt._

__

**Author's Note:**

> _  
>  **rebloggable on[Tumblr](https://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/post/631369249206714368/the-shirt-in-the-dispute-and-other-laundry-feuds)**   
>  _


End file.
